


Through Your Eyes

by titC



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Daredevil (TV), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Artist Steve, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Some Fluff, Some angst, Whump, ambiguous canon, flangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-03-13 21:26:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18948976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/titC/pseuds/titC
Summary: Steve gets an apartment in Hell's Kitchen...





	Through Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> For the [MarvelUndercover](http://marvelundercover.tumblr.com/) "Meet Ugly" themed Fest. My prompt was number 114, _Matt, being the martyr he is, ends up homeless after his identity is revealed. Steve hurts him, either physically or mentally, maybe accidentally trips over him or something, and feels as though he needs to do something to make it up to him._
> 
> Also fills my [DaredevilBingo](https://daredevilbingo.dreamwidth.org) card prompt _Bloody and alone_
> 
> Check the end notes for details on the rating (mostly whump) and potential triggers.
> 
> Thank you to [PixelByPixel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PixelByPixel/pseuds/PixelByPixel) for the beta ♥
> 
> Canon, what canon? Er... Some parts are MCU, some are not. At this point, MCU canon, comics canon(s), and fanon are all a big jumbled mess in my head ;-)

Back in New York, finally.

Going after Hydra cells was good work, of course, and it needed to be done; but nothing beat home to soothe his mind. Well, sometimes he wished for the home he’d left behind when the ice took him, but that wasn’t possible. And life was better now, right? Medicine was better, at least. So there was that. He didn't quite recognize Brooklyn anymore, but there were still neighborhoods he hadn’t revisited since they’d found him, frozen but somehow alive; and so he left Stark Tower and went out to explore. He wanted to find a new apartment, a place he wouldn't have to sneak in and out of to keep his identity and face secret. Tony said it was fine and he could stay for as long as he wanted, but Steve… didn’t want that.

So on a bright, sunny Tuesday morning, Steve left the Tower, took a deep breath of New York air, and let chance guide him.

He ended up in Hell’s Kitchen. It was one of those places that hadn’t quite recovered from the alien attack from a few years ago, with abandoned buildings not yet torn down and people from all walks of life milling around. It felt right, and it was close enough to the Tower in case of an Avengers-related emergency. Steve could see himself making a home there, and he decided to spend the day exploring.

He found two art supply shops, a couple churches, a bike repair shop, plenty of bodegas… everything he could ever want. He had lunch in a hole-in-the-wall Thai joint where the food was as flavorful as the restaurant was tiny, then started to look up apartments to rent. Why not? He already liked it here.

It was starting to get dark when Steve finally headed back for the Tower, after a day exploring the neighborhood. The sun was going down, but it was still busy; people were out and about like they used to be back when he was a kid in Brooklyn, leaving the tenements with Bucky as often as they could. Something else was familiar, though: something that never changed through the years. Something he’d never been able to ignore. A young man was being threatened in the alley he’d just walked past, and he retraced his steps. Steve took a few steps inside and gave his eyes a couple seconds to adjust to the bad lighting, then ran in.

A guy was beating up another one, and it was not looking good for the one getting hit. The attacker was wearing torn black clothes, a dark cloth around half his face and had… was that rope? around his fists. Steve jumped between them and pulled the man in black away, but he immediately got an enraged and surprisingly skilled fighter on his hands. The man he’d just saved scrambled up and ran out of the alley, one hand dangling at a weird angle. Broken wrist, damn. Steve went even harder at the guy, but he wouldn’t yield. The rope, frayed and dirty now he could see it from up close, made every punch worse, and it felt like getting pummeled by rocks. How could anyone not enhanced like Steve himself was survive that? Was this guy enhanced, too? But he was slowing down at last, his grunts ending in exhausted wheezes. Steve finally found an opening and gave him a no-holds-barred uppercut, and the man in black finally went down, curling around his stomach.

“Do this often, then? Going after people who can’t defend themselves? You know what that makes you?” Steve knelt to take the mask off and look at this punk’s face, but the man crawled away before clambering up and raising his fists again, panting like a freight train. Steve was so shocked he didn’t move right away, and as he looked up he saw the huge, bleeding gash on the man’s side. Right where he’d hit him, too. The dark blood didn’t show much on the dark fabric, but the dull glisten of it – Steve would know it anywhere. He stood up and stepped on something that made a metallic sound. A knife, and it had fresh blood on it, too.

“This your knife?”

“Does it matter?” The man in black snarled and feinted on the right before landing a solid hook with his left that would leave a bruise for a good few hours. “Come on, I can do this all day.”

Steve stared. He dodged the next volley and made a point not to fight back until the man stepped back out of range to consider his next move, his head tilted to the side. “So,” Steve said as he held the knife between then, handle towards his opponent. “This yours?”

The man’s fists lowered slightly. “I usually don’t stab myself in the gut.”

“So it’s that guy’s, the one you were beating up?” Why didn’t he use it when Steve went after him? He knew it was there since he’d gotten the pointy end in his side, and it explained the other man’s broken wrist… the man in black had disarmed him with prejudice.

“I prefer not to use blades.” The fists lowered a bit more, the shoulders too.

“Why were you beating up that guy?”

The man shrugged. “It’s what I do.”

“But…”

“I’ll find him again.” And then the guy jumped up, caught a ladder and ran up the fire escape, wound and all.

“Hey, no – wait!”

But the man didn’t, of course, and by the time Steve had shaken off his surprise and reached the roof there was no trace of him. He got back down the fire escape and found himself face to face with an older woman, her walking stick leveled threateningly at him.

“Why did you attack him? Who are you?”

“I’m, uh, Steve, ma’am.” She raised her stick a little higher. “I just, I saw one man going after another and, um.”

“Didn’t you recognize him?”

“Who?”

“Young people today, you don’t watch the news, do you?”

“Uh…” _I’m probably older than you_ , Steve thought. He guessed it wouldn't go over well.

“Leave him alone now, you hear me? Leave him alone!” She shook her stick for good measure and put it back on the ground. “He saved me from that mugger you let go, and then what do you do, huh? Where were you when I was getting robbed?” She finally made her way to the mouth of the alley, huffing and snapping at his calf with her cane as she walked past him.

Steve stood there frozen on the spot, his pride smarting more than his leg. He’d rushed in without taking stock, and he’d hurt an already injured man whose name, he only now realized, the woman hadn’t given him.

Well, maybe someone at the Tower would know.

 

He didn’t meet anyone going back to his rooms but there was always Friday, after all. He set the list of apartments he would be visiting the following day on his dresser and changed into his workout clothes. A bit of exercise would help clear his mind, and he needed to think.

“Hey, Friday.”

“Captain.”

“I saw a guy today in Hell’s Kitchen, dressed in black clothes, black mask, rope around his hands. Should I know him?”

“It seems like you met Matt Murdock, also known as Daredevil.”

“Who?” That sounded like a vigilante name. “Has he been active long?”

“A few years.”

“How come I’ve never heard of him?”

“He’s a street-level vigilante, and isn’t working against the same threats as the Avengers.”

“Are there others like him?”

“Yes. Do you want a list?”

“Not right now, thank you. Why am I only hearing about this now?”

“You’re often away, Captain; and they generally deal with different problems.” Friday paused. “They help with things like gang-related activities, drug dealing, muggings, and so on.”

Steve sat on his bed and looked up at the ceiling. Ever since he’d met JARVIS, he’d never gotten out of the habit, however silly it was. “But they’re doing good work?”

“It depends on who you ask. Both Matt Murdock and his alter ego have been involved in taking down crime-funded businessmen and gangs, for instance.”

“Why is he wearing a mask, if his identity is known?” Masks reduced your field of vision, as Steve knew very well. You had to _really_ need to keep your face hidden to use one because they made fighting way harder.

“That’s a recent development. If you would just take the StarkPad on your side table, I will show you the videos that exposed him.”

“How recent?” Steve asked once he had the tablet in hand.

“Last week, during your latest mission. First video starting now.”

Steve’s eyebrows crawled up as he watched.

It was footage from a security camera, low-fi but still good enough to make out what was happening. The man he’d met earlier was in what looked like a dilapidated warehouse, surrounded by a bunch of armed guys and holding his own against a couple knives and several guns. His kicks were impressive, but he also clearly had a boxing background that he relied a lot on. Soon enough, only two guys were left standing. And this Daredevil was grinning. You could see the white of his teeth, even if his features were too blurry to distinguish clearly. One of the remaining guys lifted his gun to shoot and Daredevil – Murdock – backflipped, an honest-to-god backflip that sent the gun flying and kicked the man down. The other one threw his knife but Murdock dodged it and jumped at him, his grin widening.

And then something shifted above them and a chunk of concrete glanced off Murdock’s head. He went down like – well, like a ton of bricks. The guy who was still standing got his phone out and pointed it at Murdock’s face. He removed the mask, moved the phone around a bit, then pocketed it again and ran away. Surprisingly enough he didn’t finish off Daredevil but left him lying there in the dust.

“That’s not good enough to see his face,” Steve said once the security footage had ended.

“The video the man shot was put online a few hours later. Mr. Murdock had already left the premises and hasn’t been found since, although the police are after him. Do you want to watch it?”

“No, thank you.” He saw too many hurt people on the regular, and that one video wouldn’t tell him anything new. “He’s probably concussed, got knifed this afternoon right before I fought him, he’s still in Hell’s Kitchen, but they can’t find him?”

“He’s currently rather popular in the neighborhood, as both identities. Authorities think the locals are protecting him.”

“But why didn’t they finish him off?”

“He’s made a lot of enemies as Daredevil and Matt Murdock, and exposing him is probably better revenge. Forensics experts concluded the cinder block was prepared in advance; they lured him in there.”

“I bet that information isn’t public, Friday.” The AI didn’t acknowledge that remark, and it made Steve smile. That was such a Tony thing, though. “You said he’s made enemies both as Murdock and Daredevil. Who’s this Murdock guy, then?”

“He is a lawyer, based in Hell’s Kitchen. I can send you a compilation of articles about him; I’ve been monitoring all superheroes and vigilantes for Mr. Stark.”

Well, there went his workout, then. “All right, send it all my way.”

Once he’d gone through the selection Friday sent him, Steve found out he really, really needed to take it out on a heavy bag after all. It seemed he’d been focusing so much on larger, planet-wide threats he’d forgotten how most people lived every day.

 

Steve considered canceling his apartment visits but finally decided to go through with it and see if he could learn anything more. This Murdock guy was an interesting one, and Steve still wasn’t over the fact he was blind. The way he fought… Friday had sent him more footage, and he could see how his style had evolved: leaning heavily on boxing, but quite proficient in other styles. He’d toned down the acrobatics after a long hiatus (Friday said that, connecting the dots, one could assume he’d been caught under a building as it collapsed and it had taken him a while to recover), but he’d been slowly ramping it up again. He’d gone through several suits but had reverted to simple, light clothing and the rope when he’d reappeared. This guy was insane: taking on more opponents than he should and jumping between buildings at night, then taking up the good fight again in court during the day. What drove him? Steve needed to find him again.

He left the Tower and bought some local newspapers at the first stand he found, then set out to find a coffee shop near the first place he’d scheduled to visit. Most papers talked about Murdock, although he wasn’t front page news anymore. People in his neighborhood supported him and many had good things to say about the lawyers that saved them from an eviction or the misdeeds of one Wilson Fisk, or about the masked man who’d saved them from a mugging. Nothing new from what Friday had sent him, but while support to his Daredevil activities had varied through the years it was currently at all all-time high. There were petitions to save him and his law partner from losing their jobs, funds raised to pay for his rent and bills while he was in hiding, worries that he was injured and not getting proper care, concerns about where he was sleeping and what was he eating and _Is he keeping warm, the poor dear, it’s getting colder every day_. That one made Steve smile, she reminded him of the previous day’s irate woman.

But, surprisingly enough, there was still absolutely nothing from his close friends. Not a single statement. They refused to talk to the press, maybe coached by the savvy Karen Page, a former journalist. He apparently had also worked with other vigilantes whose identities were known, but they too refused to say anything. With such a strong backing, why was he still on the run? He could come out of hiding, make his case, fight for himself. Why wasn’t he?

Steve’s curiosity was stoked, but it wasn’t only that. That guy’s words had been an echo from Steve’s entire life. Matt Murdock might have been many things, but he wasn’t a quitter. His entire life – _lives_ , the public one and the hidden one – had been spent getting knocked down, getting back up and then saying a big, fat, _fuck you_ to the world and Steve… Steve could relate. No, more than that: Steve felt the same. And yet the previous day he’d acted before doing a proper assessment of the situation, like an idiot that any commanding officer would send back straight to boot camp; and his impulsive actions had further injured this Murdock. He’d trusted his gut and his instinctive hatred of bullies before taking a minute to listen to his brain, only to end up making things worse.

And that was something Steve fully intended to make amends for.

Steve set out for his first visit after he finished going through the papers, and while the apartment itself wasn’t quite what he was looking for Mr. Suvanathan was nice enough.

“Why are you choosing this neighborhood, Mr. Grant? You’re not from around here.”

“No,” Steve replied. “I’m from Brooklyn. But it didn’t quite feel right again when I came back home, so I started looking for something else, you know?”

The landlord nodded. “Yes, yes, I see. You were gone for a long time, yes?”

“I was.”

“Right. When I go back to the country I was born, it’s home, Mr. Grant, but not the home I knew. And I’m always glad to go, but always glad to come back, see?” He locked the door and started down the stairs with Steve. “But I have to ask, Mr. Grant, why Hell’s Kitchen? It doesn’t have such a good reputation.”

“It doesn’t?”

“Eh, I don’t want to discourage you, no, but the papers, they only talk about us because of crime, yes?”

“Don’t you have all those vigilantes helping the police?”

“Oh, you know, the police… a few years ago a lot of the rotten ones were rooted out, but now there’s not enough of them, Mr. Grant. It’s a good thing we got them heroes to help protect us little people, I’m telling you.”

“Oh, local vigilantes?”

“We got a few, Mr. Grant. Just recently, one was unmasked and now we’ve lost two good men in one. It’s a shame, it really is.”

“Two good men?”

“Yes, two. Because Mr. Murdock, he is a lawyer, and he did good work for the community, he did! And then it turns out he also was our very own masked man. But now they’re all after him, and we’ve lost both of them.” Mr. Suvanathan shook his head. “A real shame, Mr. Grant.”

“Who’s after him?” They reached the end of the stairs and Mr. Suvanathan checked the mailbox as he led Steve outside.

“Big people, you know the kind. People like Mr. Murdock, and Mr. Murdock’s friends too, they’re not popular with big people. But they’re popular among the little ones, yes? Big politicians and big companies, they don’t care for us, Mr. Grant. But people like Mr. Murdock and Mr. Nelson? They do. We take care of our own here.”

“That sounds good, Mr. Suvanathan. That sounds really good. I’m looking forward to settling here.”

They shook hands and Steve hoped that apartment wouldn’t stay empty for long. It just didn’t have enough natural light for him. He wanted to start drawing again, maybe painting, maybe even more. Why not sculpting or pottery? He missed doing something with his hands that didn’t end in pain and blood.

He hadn’t picked up a pencil in ages, not for more than mission plans and schematics, but he hadn’t felt the urge in such a long time either. Not since before the ice, really. After that, he’d been in shock, and then once he’d got over it everything had been… gray. Just… gray. Empty. But now, in this new neighborhood, he could – feel again. See colors again, red brick and green storefronts and blue mailboxes. See shapes and see beauty and see, feel so much again. There were smells and sounds, people laughing and cooking and fire escapes creaking under the weight of kids playing on them and nothing, nothing was that too-sleek, inhuman, sterile world of the Tower or of SHIELD.

Life, yes. It felt like life.

 

The second apartment was owned by a Mrs. Nguyen. She tutted when she saw Steve, tsked when she realized he didn’t like how too-renovated the place was, and huffed when he tried to ask about Hell’s Kitchen.

“Good place, but some bad people.”

“Oh?”

“They’re trying to clean it up, really.” Steve had a feeling her _they_ wasn’t the same as Mr. Suvanathan’s. “But there are so many of these vigilantes, Mr. Grant. They sent my brother to prison, and the one the police is looking for these days, Daredevil? He broke my son’s two legs. He’ll never walk right again. Only doing business, my son was. I hope they catch him soon and make him pay.”

Steve bit his tongue and left Ms. Nguyen quickly. That was new information, but still nothing that would help him locate Murdock quickly, and so he hurried to the third apartment of the morning.

It was on the top floor of an old building, the electric wiring was a fire hazard, it was in serious need of repairs the main building owner refused to pay for, and Steve felt instantly in love. He could already see himself organizing barbecues on the roof, telling his neighbors that yes, they could do the repairs themselves and make their own lives and homes better and safer with their own hands. Oh, he could picture an easel near that window and maybe a nice reading nook there and yes. He loved it.

Ms. Esperanza tried to apologize for everything his eyes fell on, insisted the price was low, and kept touching her necklace. It was a Virgin Mary medallion, and it gave Steve ideas.

“Is there a church nearby?”

“Oh, you a Catholic, Mr. Grant?”

“Well, I was raised as such. I think it’d be nice to, maybe, try to go back?”

“Oh, of course. We’ve got a good community here, you know. Nice people. We got a new priest a few months ago, too. We’d love to see you there, help you settle in.” She grinned at him. “And we’re a bit famous too, now!”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes. When we learned about Daredevil’s real identity, we realized he is one of the parishioners too; he was even raised right next door in the orphanage! So we all know him.” She scowled. “But then we got journalists and snoops asking about him. We threw them out, Mr. Grant. We look after our own.”

“I heard about this Daredevil story! I got back in New York right after it made headlines. Do you know him then?” She looked a bit suspiciously at Steve. “I’m not a journalist in disguise, Ms. Esperanza, I promise. I’m just trying to learn about my new home.”

Her face softened. “Oh, sure, yes, of course. I didn’t know him well, but he helped my cousin when his boss tried to wrongfully fire him, and my nephew – he was running with a bad crowd, but he was so young! Daredevil got him out of a bad situation, he did. Javier said he was a very violent man, but that he got the job done. He’s now spending his time between schoolwork and learning kickboxing and he wants to be a cop, he says. Of all things!” She laughed, and Steve smiled.

“Sounds like this Daredevil’s done good, then.”

“He has, but now he’s disappeared and we’re worried, Mr. Grant. We at the parish, we try to leave some food and clothes outside in case he comes by, but it’s almost winter and we’re all afraid he’ll turn up frozen on a roof any day now. They’re after him for the wrong reasons, you know. Them who’re after him, they’re the ones whose true faces he showed the world.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean Wilson Fisk, for instance. Even in prison, he’s got deep pockets. Pretty sure he’s bought people at the Mayor’s office, or the DA’s, or some higher-ups in the police. People who don’t care for us, for the Kitchen.”

“Oh, I know what you mean.” He was getting a pretty good picture by now, and one he’d never have had if he’d stayed in Tony’s Tower. Not that Tony didn’t care about people, but he cared about them in an abstract way – make a safer, greener, cheaper energy source, defeat Earth’s enemies… All things that benefited everyone in the long run. But that was not how Steve worked, or what he needed. “Well, thank you for all this, Mrs. Esperanza.” They quickly went through the lease papers and Steve paid upfront for the first few months before leaving with a spring in his step. He’d start the afternoon by paying a visit to that church: it looked like a good lead.

 

The church was very much like many other churches he’d entered before, although the only reason he’d ever gone into one since he’d woken up in the 21st century had been funerals. These places didn’t change much in design, anyway. The smell of burning candles and of incense from an earlier mass still lingered, but it was quiet. Steve walked down the nave and sat in a pew, looking up at the altar and the stained glass behind him. He still remembered the prayers from his youth, of course, but he didn’t feel like saying them. It would be empty and meaningless. Still, he stayed for a while, hoping he’d get an idea on how to proceed from there.

This was a place the man he’d further injured frequented. Murdock was a lawyer, but he was a violent man too; he hurt people but he saved others. And he was, apparently, a devout Catholic. Steve didn’t quite know how it all worked together, but he wasn’t without his contradictions himself.

After a while a nun came into the church and started cleaning a candle rack, removing burnt out candles and scraping off dried wax and, rather amusingly, muttering about how she knew blind men didn’t put new candles on spikes that were already covered with cold wax so how come sighted people did, really. Once she was done, she looked Steve in the eye and went to sit next to him.

“The next service is at seven tonight,” she said.

“I’m not here for mass, Sister. Not today, at least.”

“Confession?”

“Ah, no. I’m just… I’m moving into the neighborhood, and I thought I’d check the place out.”

“Catholic?”

“Irish Catholic, Sister.”

“Oh dear God, I know your kind. Stubborn and proud, the lot of you. Too smart for your own good.”

Steve smiled, and her lips twitched. “You got a lot of us around here?”

“We got all sorts around here.”

“Even vigilantes, I hear.”

She immediately stiffened. “What are you here for? We don’t need nosy people.”

“Oh, no, Sister, I’m sorry. It’s just, I’m…” Steve shook his head. What should he say? But then again he’d always been terrible at spying and stealth, even with Natasha coaching him. “I think I met Daredevil yesterday, and, well, he wasn’t in such good shape. My new landlady said he was one of yours, and I thought… maybe you could help me find him.”

“Not in good shape? What do you mean, not in good shape?” Her eyes were narrowed and unwavering, set on him like she’d incinerate Steve if she didn’t like his answer.

“He had a gash on his side and I may, uh. I may have punched him right there. I didn’t know – I thought he was mugging someone at first.”

“And you didn’t think first, did you? You didn’t ask?” The incineration was seconds away, he could see it on her face.

“I acted without thinking, Sister, and now I want to make amends.”

“Impulsive, are we? I know the type.” Her eyes finally left his face, and Steve slowly breathed out. She looked like a strong wind would blow her over but she sure would make a hurricane stop and rethink its course. “I haven’t seen him since he disappeared,” she told her knotted hands. “I’m worried.”

“Do you know where he usually hides?”

“He’s not there. I spoke to his friends, but no one’s found him yet. You’re the first person to say you’ve seen him since – since.”

“He’s hurt,” Steve said. “He’s hurt, but he’s alive.” _For now_ , he didn’t add.

“Thank God,” and there was such feeling in those two words Steve started to wonder what her relationship with Murdock actually was.

“Did you know him as a child?”

“Yes. He spent years with us at St Agnes. Quite a handful, he was. Still is.”

“He seems… complex.”

“He’s a pain in the ass.” The Sister briefly looked up then back at Steve. “He’s just like his father in all the best and worst ways,” she said.

Ah, his father. The boxer who’d gotten killed in a mob hit. “Did you know about his, uh, vigilante activities?”

“I’ve known for a little while, yes. He came, _comes_ to me sometimes when he needs some stitches done in places that are hard to reach. Or to tell me about how much of a pussy Job was.”

Steve choked. “What?”

“He does have his own… _personal_ interpretations of the Bible, sometimes.”

“Huh. I’ll bet.”

The church bells started ringing above them, and the Sister stood up. “I have to go, Mr.…”

“Steve,” Steve said.

“Steve. If you find him…”

“I’ll let you know, Sister.”

“You better. Ask for Sister Maggie.” She started doing something at the back of her head, then took her veil off. “Give him this. He’ll know who it’s from. He’ll know he better come give it back himself.” _Or else_ was very much implied. “Good evening, Steve. I’m looking forward to seeing you back here.”

“Thank you, Sister. Me, too.”

She disappeared through a side door and Steve stayed a little longer, a nun’s veil in his hands. It was still warm, a bit rough, worn in places. He didn’t know how Murdock would recognize whose veil it was, but she didn’t seem to doubt he would.

He left the church even more desperate to find him.

 

Steve ended the day up on the roof of his soon-to-be apartment, looking around and letting the sights and sounds and smells and voices of the entire block drift up to him. This, he thought, would be his new home. A real home, too; a place where he could feel good, feel like himself. Steve, not Captain America. Steve, the guy next door.

Murdock loved high vantage points too, he’d read, but he couldn’t see anyone around that could be him. A couple kids playing two buildings over, a man collecting bedsheets that had dried up on the clotheslines during the day on another roof. Normal people leading normal lives. No sign of a blind ninja anywhere. Steve already knew that tomorrow first light he’d already be here, in Hell’s Kitchen, looking for him. He tied the Sister’s veil to an old TV antenna that was still standing on his roof, probably useless by now but forgotten there by a world that had moved on. Like what some people thought about nuns, perhaps. The veil floated in the breeze like a promise to the nun, and a promise to himself. He checked the knot was secure and hoped it would be gone the next evening, found by someone he willed to be alive.

The sun went slowly down and Steve watched the many beautiful sunset colors paint the sky red and orange and pink and yellow and purple. He’d set an easel here soon, he could feel it. He’d use watercolors again or maybe gouache, charcoal or oil; he’d draw this cityscape through all the hours of night and day. He’d sketch it and paint it like he had never painted Brooklyn because he hadn’t had the money to buy all the supplies he’d wanted, back then. But Brooklyn wasn’t really home anymore, and this was a new life, in a new century. A new home.

 

Over the next few days, Steve kept busy.

Every evening, he went up on the roof and added to his mind map of Hell’s Kitchen. There, the park where a little old lady walked her dog every day at 7am sharp; Steve saw her on his morning run. Two blocks east, Ahmed the butcher; three blocks north, the body shop where the mechanic had begged Steve to let her try his bike. And, right behind him, the old TV antenna with a nun’s veil still tied to it. No one had taken it yet. Steve rechecked the knot every evening, hoping the veil would be gone, but it never was. Sister Maggie had seemed pretty sure Murdock would recognize it, and Steve still hoped. He hoped he was alive.

But Steve also bought furniture for his new apartment, stopped a Doombot attack, got to know his neighbors, visited a children’s hospital in full Captain America regalia, started doing some renovations, and kept looking for Murdock. Tony asked why he was so often away, and when he learned about Steve’s new address he seemed a bit hurt that Steve hadn’t asked for his help or advice.

“I could have told you where the good neighborhoods are, Steve! Bought you something nicer!”

“I don’t want anything nicer, Tony. You've already done a lot and I’m grateful, I truly am. But I’m just – look, I’m just trying to live my own life, on my own terms.” Figuring it all out as he went.

“You know these rooms are still yours, yes? And that Friday is always available on your phone, right?”

“I know, Tony. And for Avengers business, I’ll probably have to stay here from time to time. Thank you, really. For everything.”

Tony looked a bit awkward for a moment, but he finally left Steve to his packing. He’d understand, Steve was pretty sure he would. He’d gone through hell to be his own man out of the shadow of first his own father and then Stane, after all. He knew what it was to try and find out who you were and what you wanted with life.

And Steve was grateful for his continued free access to the Tower and Friday. The gym there was one of the few that could withstand him, and he needed Friday in his search for Murdock. The AI was scouring security footage and social media posts hoping for a sign of the man in black, and Steve himself, in between his visiting second-hand furniture shops and trying a different takeout every day, went on with his search. But so far, there was no sign of him. People still had mixed opinions about Daredevil: some remembered him as a child, some had been saved by him, but several also mentioned a crippled cousin or how his feud with Fisk had left a family without any means of survival, because they’d all depended on someone who was (willingly or not) part of Fisk’s organization.

All this only made Steve more determined. He was curious, and this man was a local legend, but he was also growing more worried. What if he’d hurt Murdock worse than he’d thought? What if the man was dead? Then it would be on Steve, and he’d have killed someone who didn’t deserve it. Someone who had been trying to save an old woman from a mugging, all while hiding from the world and nursing a concussion.

 

“Captain,” his phone said one evening as Steve was washing some dishes.

“Friday?” He’d told the AI to go through his phone if anything new came up. He squeezed his sponge and set it by the sink.

“I have found Mr. Murdock. I’ve just spotted him entering a construction site.”

“Where?”

“It’s still known as Midland Circle.”

“Okay, I know where it is. How does he look?”

“Not good.”

Shit. Steve jammed a comm in his ear, threw a jacket on, grabbed a first aid kit, and ran out to his bike. He didn’t even take his helmet.

 

When he got there, the site looked pretty much abandoned. It was dark, and there was no sign that any further demolition or construction had started once the rubble had been cleaned out. The Rand logo stood out on some of the barriers and tarps, and Steve noticed that the dust had been disturbed recently where he was standing. Murdock had probably gone through the same entrance. He clicked his flashlight on and walked in, senses on alert for any sign of a living being.

The first one was a voice, and it didn’t sound at all like what he’d imagined Murdock’s to be.

“You’re a mess, Red. You need to go to a hospital.” Someone else answered, but it was low enough that Steve didn’t catch much more than a low mumble. Maybe there weren’t even any words in there. “Shut up, I’m taking you. Karen’d have my hide if I let you croak here.”

Karen? Karen Page? One of these men had to be Murdock, either Gruff Voice or Mumble. Steve switched off his flashlight and inched a bit closer to where the voices were coming from.

“Stop that, I’m taking it off. Need to look for head wounds, Red.” More mumbling, and Steve flattened himself right against the concrete block. “Who cares? Everyone’s seen your face by now.”

“I haven’t,” and that weak voice had to be Murdock’s.

“Shut your smart mouth, Counselor. I’m checking your wounds and then it’s hospital time for you.”

“Too dangerous.” Murdock’s breathing sounded really, really bad. “To be seen with me.”

Steve stepped on something that snapped loudly and all of a sudden he had a gun in his face.

“Who are you?” Gruff Voice was big, fierce, and also was the Punisher. Steve’s eidetic memory had stored all these street-level vigilantes’ faces days ago, and that one had left quite an impression. The broken nose, the cropped hair, the backstory. The man was dangerous, all the more so at the moment since he was protecting a fallen comrade. Steve could relate, and he didn’t want to engage.

“Lt. Castle,” Steve said. “I’m, uh, Captain Rogers. Army.”

“Don’t kill him, Frank,” Murdock said.

“Stand the fuck down, Red.” Frank Castle's dead, empty eyes didn’t waver. “How did you follow me?”

“I didn’t.” Steve handed him his first aid bag. “This man looks in bad shape, maybe this can help.”

Castle took it. His gun didn’t move a hair’s breadth. “You a medic?”

“I probably have the same experience as you do. But I have access to a private, secure, high-tech medical facility, and I can get him there quickly and discreetly.”

“Hm.” Castle turned his head a few degrees in Murdock’s direction, his eyes still on Steve. “Red, he lying?” There was no answer. “Red?” He asked again. “Shit.” Castle ran back to kneel by Murdock’s head, his gun still aimed at Steve.

“Look, you can’t both look after him and threaten me.”

“Can’t I?” Castle had big hands, callused and worn. Some fingers looked like they had never been set properly after a break or two.

Steve was finding it harder and harder not to simply go after the Punisher. Gun or not, he could take him. Castle was good, but not enhanced; but then there was Murdock. The priority was Murdock. “Look, we don’t have a lot of time. We both want the same thing, right?” Slowly, with very deliberate, obvious gestures, Steve knelt too and started to lift Murdock’s sweatshirt.

Castle kept his gun on him, but didn’t stop him either. “Fuck,” he said.

“Yeah.” The gash on his side was all red and inflamed, burning to the touch and sensitive from the way Murdock moaned when he brushed a finger near it. With more light than just Castle's Maglite, it would probably look even worse. “Look, I’m going to get my phone out, and I’m going to call someone. He’ll be safe, alright?”

Castle was torn, he could see it. Murdock needed a hospital right now, and a regular one _wasn’t_ safe: too many people were after him. Castle also had no reason to trust Steve… but maybe he’d trust Captain America. Steve took his phone out.

“Hey, Tony?”

“Hey, Cap! What’s up?”

“I need a medevac, right now. It’s an emergency.”

“Shit, Steve, you okay?”

"It's not for me."

"Right, good." There were a few beeping noises, and Castle’s eyes finally showed some emotion; he was surprised. Well, Steve would take it. “Okay, Friday’s triangulated your position. I’m sending the medisuit in stealth mode. Join us in the Tower, all right?”

“I will.”

Once he’d put his phone back in his pocket, he looked down at Murdock. His lips were moving, as if he was trying to speak.

“Don’t talk, Red.” Castle’s eyes finally left Steve’s face, and he could almost feel a weight lift from his shoulders.

“No,” he mumbled. “Don’t, no, too dangerous,” and a hand that still had some rope around it tried to push Steve away. “No.”

The high mechanical whine of repulsors made Castle look up and there it was already, the medisuit. Well, it looked more like a sarcophagus than anything else, but it got the job done stabilizing someone enough to transport them to a proper medic.

“What’s that thing?” Castle said, and he clearly was ready to shoot it down.

“Tony’s high tech ambulance.”

“Tony Stark.”

“Yes.”

Castle watched it land next to them and unfold, and looked inside it. “Fancy.”

“It’s still a prototype, but it’s really… it’s saved a few lives already.”

“Yours?”

“Tony’s, actually. Among others.”

Castle grunted, but didn’t say anything else.

They watched the automated stretcher float out and land on the broken concrete. Steve and Castle slid Murdock onto it, then it took him back inside the medisuit. Before it could seal up, though, Castle stopped the lid from closing.

“He’s going to be lost. When he wakes up.” Castle sighed. “Anybody would, but he’s, you know.” He waved his hand in front of his face. “Plus he’s already delirious from the fever. And he doesn't do well with some drugs.”

“Come with me then. He trusts you, and you seem to know him well.”

“No. Your world… it’s not my world. Not ours,” he said looking down at Murdock. He already had an IV in the arm, an oxygen mask over his face. Tony’s tech was amazing.

“Of course it is.”

“No, it’s really not.” Castle removed his hand and the lid closed. “I’ll call Karen. Tell Stark’s security to let her, Nelson and the nun go in. Know them?”

“Yes.”

“Anything happens to him… I’ll hunt you down, _Cap_.” He snarled that word. “Make you pay.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

The medisuit flew away and Castle left, quickly swallowed by the deep shadows around them. Steve let him have a few seconds’ head start before going out and running to where he’d left his bike, hoping he hadn’t been too late and adding yet one more entry to his Murdock list: Daredevil, friends with the Punisher.

 

Back on his motorcycle, Steve gunned it to the church. It wasn’t that late, but all good nuns should probably already be in bed. Of course, Sister Maggie didn’t really look the part of a good nun, and so he hoped he’d find her still up.

His tires screeching on the macadam probably woke all the congregation, but only one woman was in the church when he ran inside. She stood up from where she’d been kneeling and stared him down. She barely reached his sternum, and still made him feel like he was five again.

“You found him,” she said.

“Yes.”

“Take me to him.”

“Yes, I – uh.” Not everyone was a super-soldier, Steve remembered. “Do you have a bike helmet?”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s just – safety first – I…”

“Do you think I’ve never ridden a bike, with and without a helmet?” Steve hadn’t really considered it, no. “Let’s go.”

And that was how Steve drove through Manhattan with a nun on his backseat, her wiry arms around his waist. He wove through traffic and ignored all regulations, counting on his reflexes and skill to get them to Stark Tower safely. Bucky would say his dumb ass was lucky enough to make up for his stupidity but he was careful, he really was; he didn’t want to kill his passenger. He kept talking to Friday in his ear, warning the AI about probable visitors to the Tower and asking about any slow traffic on the way.

Sister Maggie yelped as he took a sharp turn two blocks from the Tower, but she’d only lost her veil and urged him on to go faster. Steve thanked Tony for the many upgrades he’d done on his bike and left it in the garage as he led the Sister into the elevator. They rode it up to the infirmary, the nun looking ready to take on an army of demons and Steve considering punching through the roof of the car and climbing the cables himself. He was pretty sure it’d be faster.

When they got there, Tony was waiting for them.

“Hey, Steve – uh.” He looked at the Sister, and in particular at her windblown hair. “…Ma’am?”

“Sister Maggie. We didn’t stop to get my veil back.”

“Fair.” Tony tried one of his PR smiles on her but she was clearly immune. “So, uh, Murdock’s in there with the doc. We’ll know more when they get out, I don’t want to disturb them right now.”

He tried to usher them into a waiting room, but Sister Maggie planted her feet and crossed her arms. “I’ll wait here.”

“Right. Okay. No problem.” Tony was unnerved by the Sister, Steve realized. And so did she.

Her sly smile was very sharp. “I take it you’re not a religious man, Mr. Stark?”

“Uh, my mother was. I’m more of a science person, Sister.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Because no scientist has ever been a man or woman of faith before. Of course.”

Tony’s eyes were begging for Steve to help and say something, but Steve was enjoying his suffering too much. Besides, the Sister probably needed the distraction. “I’ve seen Tony in a church once or twice,” he said.

“Because I was invited to a wedding or – ”

“Mr. Stark?” A woman had just opened the door behind Tony, saving him from further questioning.

That doctor, Steve thought, looked way too grim once she’d pulled her mask down. From her expression, Sister Maggie thought the same. “How is he?” Tony asked.

“Well, we’ve put him on a ventilator and cleaned his wounds and put him on a course of strong antibiotics. But he’s weak, dehydrated, and he hasn’t been eating properly in a while. There are signs he’s suffered a concussion recently, too. We’ve also found a lot of previous injuries, and not all are fully healed. And, um.”

Sister Maggie’s fingers clamped around Steve’s wrist, but she didn’t make a sound. “Yes, doctor?” Steve asked.

“His eyes aren’t responsive to light at all. Now he’s stabilized we’re going to focus on that; we fear vision loss.”

“No need,” Maggie said.

“What?”

“He’s been blind since childhood.”

“Since…?” The doc’s own eyes widened. “What’s happened to that guy then? Does he keep walking into traffic? Getting mugged? How can he have so many…”

“Do you never watch the news, Jen? That’s Daredevil, the Murdock guy. He pushed me out of the front pages for _at least_ a week!” Which was apparently an outrageous crime, but one that Tony could feel a little grudging admiration for.

The doc blinked. “Oh,” she said. “No, sorry. Didn’t recognize him. I get enough excitement working here,” she added with a shrug.

Maggie’s nails bit into Steve’s skin. “I want to see him.”

“He’s not conscious at the moment.”

“Did I say I wanted to talk with him?”

Tony looked at Steve. He hadn’t questioned the nun’s presence so far, but he still waited for Steve’s nod before gesturing at the door behind. “Lead on, Jen.”

They followed the doc into a glassed-off area from where you could see a bed surrounded by equipment that still looked futuristic and unreal to Steve, even after spending so much time around Tony. Murdock was hooked up to so much stuff it was a wonder they could still see a little bit of pale skin, hard to make out against the white of the bed. He was lying on his back, with his wounded side slightly elevated. There was a tube in his throat, but also IV lines in his arm, sensors all around the bed, screens and readouts and other mysterious machines. The soft hiss of the ventilator was the only thing suggesting Murdock was still alive. A big, burly nurse came in and hooked him up to a new bag of some clear fluid then left again, his eyes on a pad. Everything was quiet.

After a while, Maggie put both hands and her forehead against the glass, and her mouth moved – she was praying.

Steve tugged the doc a little further back and asked her, “He’s going to make it, right? He’s going to recover?”

“We hope so.”

“He survived a building falling on him. He’ll survive this,” Maggie said.

“Sister! I didn’t mean for you to hear that.” Steve forgot sometimes was a normal range of hearing was, and Tony rolled his eyes at him. _Smooth, Cap_ , he mouthed.

“I want to know, too. But if he survived Midland Circle, he’ll get over this.”

“Midland Circle? That’s where I found him. What happened there?”

“Bad things. It’s a place of death, but you got him out.”

And then she went back to her prayer, and Steve found himself joining her. He heard Tony and the doc leaving the room, and he let the old words he’d thought buried and forgotten in his childhood memories from a century ago rise to his lips.

Now Steve had found Murdock, he’d make sure he’d live. _You don’t leave a man behind_.

 

Several hours went by, but Steve was unable to track the time. He’d been lost in his thoughts, a jumbled mess of Hail Marys and _Who is this man_ and _I want to know what makes him tick_ and _I want to draw him_ and _I want to see him move_.

The footage Friday had shown him before had been… enlightening. This man wasn’t enhanced, he was blind, he had a regular, time-consuming day job; he’d gone through highs and lows and he’d suffered terrible injuries before and yet he still went out every night to fight the good fight. He still found it in himself to get back up every time, whatever happened. He’d hid so much for so long, too; did he still know who he was? Did he still trust himself, his judgment? How did he balance his work from within the legal system, his faith in justice, and his Daredevil activities? Steve needed to know. He needed to ask, at least.

But his ruminations were cut short when Kyle, the nurse from earlier, ushered in two more people. Steve recognized them from Friday’s file.

“Ms. Page, Mr. Nelson,” he said. “I’m Steve.”

Their eyes were on Murdock, but turned to him for a moment. “Foggy, please,” the guy said. “So you’re the one who brought him here, right? Without you…”

Ms. Page slapped the window between her and Murdock. “But that’s it! He never listens! Frank called me to say he’d found him and that he’d been taken here, but couldn't he have…” She was upset, her eyes red with tears and lack of sleep. “We told him! He…”

“You won’t change him,” Sister Maggie said. Ms. Page nodded and blew her nose. Steve was missing a lot of their conversation and he was feeling quite awkward standing there and not getting most of what was unsaid.

“How is he?” Foggy asked after a moment.

The nurse gave them an update that had too many words that used to mean certain death in the 30s and said that if they wanted to go into the room they now could, but they’d have to suit up and go in one by one.

Sister Maggie went in first, looking even smaller in scrubs that didn’t fit. She took Murdock’s hand in hers, smoothed his hair, rearranged his covers, and that’s when Steve noticed something: they had the same nose. Their hair had the same little whorl at the back of the head; their ears were pretty similar, too.

“Are they related?”

Karen Page looked at Foggy, then Steve. “They’re close,” she said.

That was as good as a yes.

 

When it was Foggy’s turn, Murdock had started to show signs of… something. Maybe not quite consciousness yet, but his head was moving slightly, his fingers too. Foggy suited up and went in. He talked about stuff Steve didn’t quite understand but that made Ms. Page smile, what a client said and how the DA had reacted and other things like that, until the bed shook violently and Foggy rushed to his friend. Doctor Jen (Steve would have to learn her full name) and the nurse ran in and made to inject something into his IV line, but Foggy stopped them.

“No, no! You’re only going to make him worse. Matt, Matty, can you hear me? Come on, blink for me, all right? Two blinks for yes, can you do that?” Maggie, Karen, and Steve were glued to the glass, trying to see if Murdock blinked. “Yes, that’s it, that’s good! You’re safe, Matty, you’re in a, well, not a hospital, it’s a private facility, you’re safe, we’re all safe. Do you understand?” There must have been more blinks, because Foggy went on. “Good. It’s good, buddy. Now, you’re moving too much, and you shouldn’t. You’re hurt, and we’re all trying to help you, okay? Do you – no, no, don’t do that, don’t, no…!”

The nurse was pinning Murdock’s hands down on the bed while the doc readied the syringe again, but Foggy shook his head. “Look, I think it’s the tube – can we take it out? Can he breathe on his own now?”

“It’s a bit soon,” doc Jen said.

“He’s going to try and pull it out until he manages, and those,” he said with a wave at her syringe, “usually make his senses go haywire and it’s… not pretty. Trust me, we tried some, uh, we experimented a few times in college, learned not to do it again, you know? I’m his medical proxy, I’ve got a list of what drugs he can take, I’ll look it up, all right?”

Doc Jen shook her head, but they finally changed tactics and gathered around the head of the bed.

“Fine,” she said. “But get me that list ASAP. Now, Mr. Murdock. We’re getting it out, do you understand? Good. On the count of three, cough as hard as you can. It’s going to be unpleasant, I’m warning you.”

“I’m here, buddy, don’t break my fingers, all right?”

There were some terrible sounds then finally the tube was out and Murdock seemed to calm down. Maggie, tense like one of Clint’s bows that even Steve found hard to draw, deflated and closed her eyes.

After a few frantic minutes it was determined that Murdock was breathing fine, then he croaked something that must have made sense to Foggy, because he relayed it to the doc when she looked at him with her eyebrows up.

“But he’s in pain,” she said.

“When he’s done being a martyr he’ll let you know,” Foggy said. “No, don’t you Fogs me, buddy; _some_ painkillers work for you. You just like pretending you’re the toughest son of a bitch around, right?” His words were more cutting than his tone, and his tone more than his gestures. Foggy patted Murdock’s hand and bent over the bed once more. “Fine, I’ll ask. Say, did you keep his clothes?”

“They’re not salvageable,” the nurse said.

“He says there’s something inside that he needs. Front pocket?”

The nurse shrugged and left for a moment, holding a piece of dark fabric when he came back. Steve had a pretty good idea of what it was. “That it?”

“Matt, he’s holding what looks like – okay, is that a nun’s veil? Right. Of course it’s hers. Fine, I’ll give it to her, don’t sweat it. You idiot,” he added fondly.

Foggy fussed a bit more around the bed, which made Ms. Page smile a little, and left with a last, “Now you better get well quick or I’m siccing Captain America on you.”

So Frank Castle had told them who Steve was, then. Well, would they have trusted Random Steve without it? Probably not. “I’m just Steve,” he said when Foggy joined them at the window.

“Sure, but _Just_ _Steve_ doesn’t work as well as a threat, you know?”

“Captain America is a _threat_?”

“Well, you know, I’m pretty sure that as a boy Matt hero-worshipped the local NY hero who started out really sick, fought bad guys, and sacrificed himself for the greater good. He won’t want to disappoint him.” Steve sighed. Story of his life, really. But then again, his real identity had never been made public for that very purpose: they’d wanted to turn him into a model. He shouldn't complain, really. “Sister,” Foggy went on, “I think that’s yours?”

“It is,” Maggie said, and she spent the rest of the night with a blood-stained veil on her head.

Steve added _Affinity for bloody clothes_ to his list of similarities.

 

The next few days saw Murdock slide in and out of sleep, never staying conscious for more than a few minutes at a time. Jen, Doctor Tranh actually, said he was responding well to the antibiotics, so that was good.

Tony mostly kept away, and Karen and Foggy visited every evening, but Sister Maggie literally set up camp in the infirmary. She mentioned she’d trained as an assistant nurse, and while she spent her days with the children of St Agnes she came back every night. She said she’d cleared it with her Superior and that as long as Tony didn’t mind, she’d stay by Murdock’s side to help with his care. This apparently meant cleaning whatever her eyes fell onto, changing Murdock’s dressings, chiding him, and occasionally sitting on the cot provided for her.

And Steve, well. Steve trained with his fellow Avengers, worked with Sam and Colonel Rhodes to promote a veterans’ association that did good work with former soldiers, repainted his bedroom, and in his free time… well. In his free time, he found himself more often than not in the Tower's infirmary.

Visitors were now allowed in Murdock’s room without having to don scrubs, and after asking the nurse Steve started bringing a sketchbook and some pencils. It was quiet enough and no one disturbed him or questioned his presence and, strange as it was, he found the lack of stimuli around him made his fingers itch. His mind was finally free to wander and he’d draw the machines around him, then from memory the faces of the people he’d met in the day. He designed some posters for the vet association, and then he ended up looking at Murdock.

He looked like a very tired man, not the Devil’s of Hell’s Kitchen or the Blind Ninja like some papers had started calling him. Just a guy, recovering. He had a cannula under his nose, but he was at least breathing normally. His face was still a bit gaunt and the hollows under his eyes were almost purple, but Steve could tell he had an interesting bone structure. It was easy to see, now that Sister Maggie shaved him regularly and it was not hidden under heavy stubble. He had a well-defined jaw, a wide forehead, a (surprisingly, given his activities) straight nose, and his mouth was very… distinctive, he decided. As was his Cupid’s bow. And he had nice hands, too. Well proportioned. Good models for drawing practice.

After three days, Steve realized he’d filled half of his sketchbook with hands and noses and epic bed hair and other details of the man, and yet they still hadn’t talked. Every time Steve went in, Murdock was sleeping, or maybe meditating. His friends said he did that, too, but there was no way to know if he was well enough for it.

But on the third day, an hour or so before Maggie’s usual time, he finally spoke. Steve dropped his pencil in surprise.

“I’ve been told you got me here,” Murdock said. “Guess I should thank you.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to let you die.”

“Maybe I wouldn't have died.” He smirked. “I’m hard to kill.”

“I bet you are.”

Murdock didn’t say anything for a while, then spoke again. “You punch hard.”

“Oh, you remember?” Murdock hummed. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Eh. Happens. No harm done.”

“Harm done, actually.” Steve still felt guilty about it.

“Hm.” Another pause. “You’re here every day,” Matt went on. “Why? What are you doing?”

“I want to make sure you’re going to be okay. And, uh.” Was it insensitive to say he was drawing? Steve couldn’t imagine being blind. Even before Project Rebirth, back when he’d been colorblind, sight had been his most important sense. Painting was the art he related most to, visual arts his favorite medium.

“I can hear you thinking from here,” Murdock said.

“Really?”

“You’re uncomfortable about something.” He lifted a hand and waved it in Steve’s direction. “Is it the blind thing? It’s usually the blind thing.”

“No, it’s – I’m drawing. On paper. With a pencil. Things. People.” _You_ , Steve didn’t add.

“Hm. I’m not much into art. Pretended I wanted to buy some paintings once. Does it count?”

“Er, sure.” Steve thought for a minute. “Got any hobbies, Mr. Murdock?”

“Oh please, _Matt_. And I do have one: justice,” he said, stone-faced. Steve gaped. “You’re gaping, aren’t you? Hah!” He looked very pleased with himself, like he’d told the joke of the century.

“You’re terrible,” Steve said. Murdock’s, _Matt’s_ sense of humor reminded him of Bucky's, and he wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or not. Jury was still out on that one. “Can I… can I draw you?”

Matt shrugged. “Sure. No real idea of what I look like now, to be honest. Maybe I’m like a Picasso.”

“You’re not.”

“Oh, good then.” His breathing slowed down; he was falling asleep again. “I know what you look like, though.”

“What?”

“I remember the pictures, from the schoolbooks. Couldn't see your face too well, but… I remember,” he whispered, and then he was sleeping.

Steve closed his sketchbook and didn’t draw anything else that day.

 

They had a few more conversations, each one slightly longer than the previous. Matt asked him to describe what he was drawing and Steve complied, with some editing. _Your hands for practice_ , he’d say, or _Iron Man’s suit from memory_ , or _Faces I’ve seen today_. He didn’t mention whose faces, because more and more it was only the one and Steve didn’t want to make him too uncomfortable.

But the more Matt recovered the antsier he was, and one late afternoon Steve found Tony and some lawyers from his legal team having a shouting match with Matt.

“You can’t leave right now,” Tony said.

“So I’m your prisoner?”

“Don’t be stupid, you know too many people are after you the minute you’re out. You’re in no shape to defend yourself, Murdock!”

“Yes, I am!” Matt was sitting up in bed and trying to leave it and Kyle rushed past Steve into the room to push him back down.

“Your hands are shaking, Rocky Balboa. You’re not going to punch anyone right now. I brought some of my legal team so you can brainstorm a defense strategy, because _that’s_ what you need to do. Not go out half-cocked and get your ass handed back to you.”

“I don’t need your lawyers, _I’m_ a lawyer! I have my own firm, I don’t need…”

Steve knocked on the door Kyle had left open in his hurry. “Hey, Tony, can I speak to you for a minute?”

“Can it wait? I’m trying to hammer some sense into this brickhead here.”

“It’s kind of time-sensitive, Tony, I’m sorry.”

“Ah, crap. Fine. I’ll be just a minute, guys.” Tony followed Steve out of the infirmary, looking a little surprised at the distance and closed doors Steve put between Matt and them, but he didn’t say anything until Steve turned to him. “What is it?”

“You’re alienating him.”

“Murdock sure got all his hackles up, but he’s not very smart if he thinks he’d be better off outside.”

“Put yourself in his shoes for a minute, Tony: he probably feels at your mercy. He doesn’t know you, he’s sick, he can’t fight, and here you are throwing attorneys at him.”

“Well, he _needs_ attorneys.”

“He’s one himself, though. You’re telling him you don’t even trust him to be competent at his regular job.”

“I do! But working as a team is better, right? At least that’s your spiel, Cap. Don’t tell me you’re taking it back now!”

“How would you feel if someone brought engineers in your workshop when you’re building something personal and sensitive, Tony?”

“It’s not the same!” Steve crossed his arms and waited for Tony to wave his arms and ramble some more as he usually did when thinking, but this time it was pretty quick. “Yeah, all right, it may not have been the greatest idea. Shouldn’t have sprung it on him without warning.”

“You mean well, Tony. I’m sure he realizes that.”

“Right now he’s pretty pissed at me.”

“You do have a knack for making people pissed at you.”

Tony smiled. “Pepper would agree with you.”

“Pepper is usually right.”

Steve patted Tony’s shoulder and they walked back into the infirmary, where from the sounds of it Matt was now engaged in a vicious debate with Tony’s team.

“Hey guys, let’s break it up for today, all right? I’m sure Mr. Murdock is tired; he’s still recovering after all,” Tony said as they entered the room.

“I’m fine,” Matt ground out, and he didn’t really look fine what with the sweat shining on his forehead; but the other lawyers had the air of people who’d gone a few rounds with the devil. Steve guessed they had, sort of. The attorneys shuffled out quickly, and once they were out Matt sat back against his pillows. “I don’t need your lawyers, Mr. Stark.”

“I just thought it might help.”

“You shouldn’t have to help me. You’ve wasted enough resources on me, and I’m not even part of your team.”

“What do you mean, not part of my team? That’s not how it works. You’re one of us, Murdock. We don’t face the same threats, but we work for the same goal. We try to make our world better, right?”

Matt turned his head away. “I’ve helped put some bad people in prison. They get out, though. And I can’t really do it anymore.”

“Yes you can,” Steve said. “Once you’ve recovered, and the charges against you have been dropped, you can get right back to it.”

Tony mumbled something about maybe _not_ getting back to it given the horrifying number of past injuries the doc had found, but both Steve and Matt ignored him. It wasn’t like Tony was any kind of model on the self-preservation front, anyway.

“They won’t drop the charges,” Matt said. “That's not how justice works. And I’ve done some things – I deserve them.”

Steve crossed his arms. “You can’t go to prison, Matt. You’d have all the other inmates against you.”

“That would be a bonus, if you listen to some people.”

Tony threw his hands up. “You’re determined to see only the darkest side, right?”

“Well, I’m blind. Not much light coming through, I’m afraid.”

“Is that…” Tony sputtered. “Is that a blind joke?” Matt grinned. It wasn’t a pleasant, placating grin either. There were teeth in it. “Oh my God. Right, I’m out, my bots don’t talk back that much. Sheesh. I got a job too, you know? Jobs, plural, even. He’s all yours, Steve. And _you_ ,” he said with a finger pointed at Matt, “you better stop being a contrary little shit, all right? Got enough of that on my regular team, thank you very much.”

After Tony had left Matt leaned back against his pillows, a hand on his side. “I shouldn’t antagonize you people. You’re all being very generous with your time and resources. I’m sorry.”

“Tony’s not upset. No, really; he likes people talking back to him. He _designs_ his AIs to talk back to him.” Steve sat on the chair closest to Matt’s bed. “He likes it when people are not afraid of him, or not trying to get into his good graces just because he’s rich.”

“I’m just…” Matt sighed.

“You’re frustrated.”

“I’m stuck here, and I can’t do anything. Anything at all.” Matt’s hand curled into a fist. “Foggy came around lunchtime. He said the same thing Stark said – that I needed to mount a defense, that I should be ready to argue my case. But what I do, what I did – Daredevil is a vigilante. Vigilantism is illegal. There’s nothing more to it. I always knew I’d be caught one day. Or killed.”

“You can’t give up like that, Matt. You’re fighting for a reason, you’re fighting for what is right. You _know_ legal isn’t always the same as right, and you have the tools to use both the law and the good in you to help those who need it. You’re giving them hope, Matt; I’ve seen it. The people of Hell’s Kitchen are grateful for what you’ve done, for the risks you’ve taken for them.”

“I’ve heard your speeches were legendary; I get why. You’re a good speaker. Ever thought about studying law? You’d do great in court. But,” Matt went on, “how would you know anything about Hell’s Kitchen? You’ve been there, I can smell the pad thai from the restaurant across from Josie’s on you, but…” He tilted his head back and frowned a little, his eyes half-closed. “It’s not the same. Not the same as living there.”

“I do live there, now. I got an apartment in Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Oh.” The frown deepened. “Thought you were from Brooklyn.”

“I am. But it’s too different from before, or not different enough, I don’t know. I looked around and I liked the Kitchen, and so I stayed.”

“But you’re… repainting?” Matt’s nostrils flared. “Paint, and thinner, and… putty?”

“Yep. You’ll have to come and visit sometime.”

“If I’m ever allowed out of prison.”

“I’m not letting them put you in jail, and Tony won’t either. All right?”

“You’re not above the law, Captain. No one is. Not even Stark’s money puts him above the law, whatever he believes. What I’ve done goes against it, and even if I did it all because the law has its limits, it doesn’t mean I can or should escape it.”

Matt’s eyes were glassy now, though whether from fever or exhaustion Steve didn’t know. “Look, it’s late, you should probably rest.”

“Late?” Matt’s hand moved to a watch on his wrist. He lifted the scratched glass face to read the time with his fingers. “Oh. Not that late.”

“You didn’t have that watch before.”

“Foggy brought it along some fresh clothes. For when I leave.”

“I thought you used talking watches.”

“We? Blind folk?”

“I meant…”

“You meant blind folk.”

“I…” Had he been rude? Steve didn’t like being rude when he didn’t mean to.

“It’s fine, I’m just enjoying making you uncomfortable.” Matt smirked. “Talking watches are a pain. They’re either too loud or not loud enough, they make you stand apart, they’re… they’re a pain. No one likes them much.”

“I can understand that.”

Matt’s fingers went back to the watch. “I bought this one with my first paycheck. I thought, if I’m going to be a lawyer, I have to look the part. Bought a tie, too, so I wouldn't have to borrow them anymore. New shoes, a suit, the works. I ate boiled potatoes for an entire month, but it was worth it. It’s not as accurate as it used to be but it still does the job, more or less.”

“Like a uniform,” Steve said. “Wearing the job, all you worked for out there for everyone to see. I get it.”

“Thought you might.” Matt took the watch off and put it carefully on his bedside table. “I probably won’t be allowed to keep it in prison.”

“We're not there yet. We may _never_ get there.” Steve wished Matt wouldn’t have such a grim outlook on his future, but he was starting to realize it wasn’t, or not only, because of his circumstances: it was just Matt. He didn’t know how to be kind to himself, especially not when there was something he thought bigger than him at stake: justice, another life, his friends’ jobs… everything rated higher than his own well-being. “And whatever happens, it won’t happen now. You’re still recovering from blood poisoning. Get some rest, all right?”

“Well, if Captain America orders it…”

“You bet he does.”

Matt gave him a terrible salute that made Steve snort. Colonel Phillips would have had a stroke.

Steve left the Tower, for once not heading straight home to Hell’s Kitchen but instead taking a detour to another neighborhood, where one Dr. Strange resided. A guy who called himself Sorcerer Supreme might have an ace or two up his voluminous sleeves regarding Matt’s anonymity, right?

 

Friday woke him up early the next morning with a call for the Avengers to Assemble. When Steve looked out of his window it was still dark outside, and he knew they’d be up in the air before sunrise. He threw his latest sketchbook and a few pencils on top of his always-prepared mission pack, and twenty minutes later he was in the air with Bucky, Sam and Clint to investigate and if need be destroy an AIM stronghold. A sniper, a spy, air support, and brute force: that’s what Nick Fury had said they’d need. Steve wasn’t too happy with being labeled _brute force_ , but he was pretty sure Fury had said it all on purpose to rile them all up. Bucky was moping at the back of the quinjet about not being brute force, Clint was sulking in the pilot seat about not being the sniper, and Sam was taking the high road and reading the files they were supposed to have memorized by the time they landed.

After a while, Bucky couldn't sit still any longer and he left his seat to check that all their bags and equipment were well secured. He tightened a few straps that didn’t need tightening, knocked down the pile of files Sam hadn’t yet studied, and finally looked over Steve’s shoulder to see what he was drawing.

“Huh. Still the same guy?”

“What are you talking about, Buck? That’s just a hand, for practice.”

“Uh huh. It’s just you’ve only been drawing the same pair of hands for about a week, Stevie.”

“And did you see the little demon he was doodling during Friday’s briefing?” Sam asked.

“Are we roasting Steve?” Clint called out from the cockpit. “Because he’s left one of his sketchbooks in the infirmary and they’re full of bits of the same dude.”

“The Murdock guy, the one Tony said he’s moving into a soundproofed room?”

“Yeah. Say, Steve, why only bits? Are you planning on dismembering him?”

“What? No!”

“It’s all hands and eyes and mouths and arms, Steve. I swear, it’s kinda creepy.” Bucky plucked the sketchbook from his hands and started flipping through the pages. “Oh, okay, that’s… half his face, that’s better, right? The little ears on the mask are cute.”

“They’re not ears,” Steve said.

“Well they say he’s got freakish hearing,” Clint shouted. “Hence the soundproofing, you know? Ears would make sense.”

“They’re horns.”

“Aw, you’re defending him!” Bucky bumped his shoulder. “C’mon, admit it, you got a crush on the guy!”

“I hate you all,” Steve said with a sigh. “I really do.” And he wasn’t into guys, anyway. Steve stole Sam’s files and pretended to read them until they left him alone, and then the mission took most of their attention for the next week.

 

It took way longer than expected, but they made it back safe and whole. The quinjet had suffered a bit so Tony shooed them off to start the repairs, and as soon as the debrief was done and he’d had a shower Steve headed for the floor Matt had been moved to. Matt (who he didn’t have a crush on, seriously, Buck) had probably heard they’d returned by now, but he wasn’t waiting for him in his room. A soundproofed room, Sam had said. He hadn’t known the Tower had rooms that were better soundproofed than others.

Steve started with the infirmary, thinking he should check that he hadn’t left any more incriminating sketchbooks there. Thankfully, he hadn’t. He poked his head in the nurses’ office.

“Hey Kyle, have you seen Matt?”

“He’s in the gym, Captain.”

Kyle had never managed to call him Steve in two weeks, and it probably would never change now. “Isn’t that a bit early?”

“Yeah well, try telling him that. Kim suggested tying him to the bed but the doc said it wasn’t ethical, so we wait for him to tire himself out and then we go pick him up.”

“I bet that goes over well.” Kyle made a grimace, and Steve left the infirmary for the gym.

He stopped a floor above though, and asked Friday whether it was a good time or not to interrupt. “See for yourself,” the AI said, and projected a video feed of the gym on the elevator wall.

Steve wasn’t too surprised to hear thumps, crashes and some swearing. Matt was wearing a sleeveless shirt and loose sweatpants, and he was leaning against a heavy sandbag between punches. His face was blotchy and sweaty, and he was out of breath. It was a miracle he was still standing, really.

“Mr. Murdock, you should maybe take a break,” Friday said gently.

“I don’t need a break, I need to get back into shape.”

“You’re safe here.”

“I’m not _staying_ here.”

“Mr. Murdock, I am monitoring your vitals and you really need to – ”

“Well then don’t monitor me! Did I ask to be monitored? Doesn’t that violate my rights?” Matt hit the bag like he probably wanted to hit the AI, and almost fell back from the force of his own blow. “Fuck, I hate this, I hate everything about this.”

“I monitor all patients like it is done in any medical facility. You are a patient, Mr. Murdock. You should still be resting.”

“A patient, eh? More like a prisoner.”

“You’re monitored for your own safety, and you can leave anytime. It’s simply wiser not to.”

“My own safety? I’m not a, an _invalid_. I’m not _helpless_.” He took a step back and tripped on a mat, falling on his injured side. He got back on all fours, then his knees, and raised his head. Steve could see blood on his upper lip. “I’m not a cripple!” Matt screamed.

“No one said you were.”

“No one says it, everyone thinks it. You all do, here! All of you!” Matt tried to get to his feet and only managed it by sheer force of will. Steve could see his legs tremble. “I’m the blind guy here, and I don’t know this place, and it’s all made for sighted people here, and I hate it! I hate everything about this place!”

“If you tell us what would make your stay easier…”

“I want out! That’s what would make it easier. I want out, I’m not – I’m perfectly able to be on my own, I don’t need any help, I don’t…” Matt fell back down. “I’m able,” he whispered. “I’m able.”

Steve looked up at the elevator ceiling. “Get me there, Friday.”

The AI turned off the projection and a couple seconds later the elevator doors opened on the gym. Steve could hear Matt’s heavy breathing, with an occasional hitch breaking its rhythm. He found him sitting on a bench against the wall.

“Matt?”

“Go away.”

“Hey, I just got here.” Matt didn’t answer. His hands covered his face. “You look better than last time.”

“You were gone for a week.”

“Yes. I’m sorry, I should have warned you.”

“It’s your job.” Matt finally said. “Want to get a couple rounds in?”

“What? No. You're not recovered yet.”

“Oh yeah? Says who?” Matt pushed himself up and raised his fists. “I’m good, I’ve been worse, I’ve fought in worse shape. Come on, are you afraid of me? Are you?” He was wavering on his feet. “I can take you.”

“Not now, Matt. Don’t…” But he ignored Steve, of course. “You’re in no shape to fight, even spar.”

“Yes I am,” and he tried to hit Steve’s shoulder. It felt like a swat, nothing like the hard punches he’d been dishing out the first time they’d met.

“Dammit, are you always this angry?” Matt grinned, a cocky grin Steve remembered from a couple blurry shots of Daredevil. It was a _come and get me if you can_ grin, full of mockery and pride. “Matt, you’re bleeding.”

“Whatever.”

“Matt…” Steve sighed. Words wouldn’t work, he could see it; so he took Matt’s wrists’ in his hands and gently guided him back to sit on the bench. “When you’re actually recovered, we’ll spar however much you want, okay?”

“We can spar now. Turn the lights off, see how it goes for you in the dark.”

“Sure, sounds fun. When you’re recovered.” Steve started to unwrap Matt’s hands. Removing the tape felt a bit weird when not doing it on his own hands, but Matt didn’t protest. He let Steve free his fingers, let him stretch them and check the joints and massage the palms a little.

“I used to do that for my father.” Matt’s voice had a slightly wistful tone Steve hadn’t often heard from him. “After a day at the gym, or a big match. Stitched him up, too.”

“Anyone do it for you?”

“Nah. I ice my hands sometimes, when they’re really sore.”

“You should take better care, Matt. You’ve got nice hands.” He’d like to try and sculpt them, one day. Steve had wanted to try clay for ages, and hands… they were a challenge, but if he could have the real things right under his fingers as he tried to shape and mold the clay it could work. He could make it work.

“Steve,” Matt said, but then he clammed up and pulled his hands away. “Right. Thanks. I should,” and that’s when Steve realized they’d been sitting quietly for a few minutes by now. The flush on Matt’s cheeks was not from exertion anymore.

“Right.”

Matt retrieved the white cane folded under the bench that Steve hadn’t noticed before. “I’ll just.”

“Uh, do you need help?”

“Help?”

“To get back to your room.”

“Why would I need help? I got here on my own, didn’t I?” He unfolded the cane with a jerk. “Blind and all, in a place that doesn’t have a single Braille button anywhere, where I have to ask for directions from an invisible computer because everything is smooth and sleek and just,” he waved his fingers, “ _unreadable_!”

“I just meant because you don’t look too steady on your feet.”

Matt’s shoulders dropped. “Oh.”

“I’ve been designed to help, Mr. Murdock,” Friday said. “Adaptations are easy to make. The Tower adjusts to the needs of its residents.”

“You know,” Steve said, “we've got a partially deaf guy, someone who needs braces to walk, an amputee… we've just never had a visually impaired team member.”

“Not even among Stark's employees?”

“I don’t know. Friday?”

“Mr. Stark does employ blind and visually impaired people, but none are residents of the Tower itself. Not like you are, Mr. Murdock.”

“I’m not a resident.”

“You are for now, Matt.”

“You are welcome to ask anything from me, Mr. Murdock; and I will see to it that Braille labels are added wherever you need.”

Matt gritted his teeth. “There’s so much noise, all the time, everywhere. I don’t need more.”

“Noise?” That was a first, for Steve. “I thought your room was soundproofed, at least. And the entire Tower is pretty quiet, compared with Hell’s Kitchen.”

“But that’s it! This place – it’s not the Kitchen; the walls are buzzing all the time; I can hear the lights and the wires and none of it is home! None of it!” Matt slapped the wall with his palm. “Not even the walls are quiet,” he whispered, “but I can’t hear anything from the world outside.”

“You… you can hear the electricity?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Oh, right. Is that how you, uh.”

“What, fight?”

“Well, yes.”

“It’s… a number of things. I sense, well, everything. Everything but light. Sounds, and smells, and pressure, and balance, and gravity, and… everything.”

“Doesn’t it get overwhelming?”

“Yeah. I learned how to tune it out. I had to.”

And, Steve guessed, it was easier to tune out when it was familiar, which the Tower wasn’t. But as long as Daredevil had people gunning for him, Matt Murdock shouldn’t be easy to find in his usual haunts, which made a follow-up visit to Stephen Strange even more urgent. Matt wouldn’t last much longer here with his sanity intact.

But, Steve thought as he left the Tower once Matt was back in his room, he hadn’t been known as the Man With A Plan for nothing.

 

Dr. Strange’s answer was a mixed bag of good and bad things, but what Matt would decide wasn’t too hard to guess. Steve didn’t know what he’d do in his shoes: what if he lost all anonymity? What if safety meant isolation? He couldn’t see any good outcome for himself.

After spending a couple hours at SHIELD finalizing his report on the past week’s mission and updating their database, he hopped on his bike to go to the Tower. He kept turning what Strange had told him the day before in his head, but it didn’t seem any better after having slept on it. He parked his bike and first found Tony in the main workshop, waving his hands through the holoscreens he manipulated so easily. Screens that would be useless to Matt, Steve realized.

“Hey Cap, Fury still an asshole?”

“Fury’s Fury. He said he’s still waiting for his own quinjet.” Fury always asked, and Tony always refused.

“Yeah, no. Say, your blind ninja rescue shamed me into revamping most of our products to improve accessibility, in between trying to evade security or having terrifying mock arguments with my legal team. He and his buddy Nelson, they’ve steamrolled all over my lawyers! As if I’d hire crap ones! Seriously, I want to give them a spot on my payroll but I don’t think Murdock would accept.”

“Guess not, no.”

“Oh, and he almost fell from my landing platform.”

“What?”

“Said he wanted some fresh air that hadn’t gone a hundred times through the AC, wandered off on the landing platform, and threatened to sue me for not putting proper warnings for the visually impaired about the sheer drop. Your boyfriend’s insane, Cap.”

Steve stared at Tony. “I, uh. Not my boyfriend, and he was probably trying to annoy you.”

“I like him, reminds me of you. And he’s _totally_ your boyfriend, Steve! Spent a week moping when you were away on your mission.”

“Moping?”

“You know, moping like you mope, sneaking out to the gym to hit a bag; except you generally destroy the bag instead of the bag destroying you. Kyle found him passed out on the mat last Monday, like an idiot.”

“Who let him out into the gym, anyway? Nevermind that,” Steve said; he didn’t want any of Tony’s employees to find themselves in trouble. “How can he remind you of me?”

“Because you’re both idiots. He’d probably jump out of a plane without a chute if he had the opportunity, you know? That kind of angry idiot.”

“I’m not – and I don’t _need_ a chute!”

“Yeah, yeah. Next you’ll tell me you’re never angry, right?”

“I’m angry when it’s warranted! I can’t stand bullies. I can’t stand injustice!” Tony mouthed the words along with Steve. “Ugh, don't do that.”

“It’s good to see you all worked up about something, is all.” Tony waved a hand and the holoscreens vanished. “I wasn’t too happy when you said you wanted to leave the Tower and live elsewhere, but it’s done you good. And finding Murdock, too. You were like a zombie for a while there.”

“I just needed a change of setting. The Tower’s great, but it’s not… it’s not for me, I think. Not as a home.”

“Yeah, sure. I see that now. Even if you spend hours every day drawing your boyfriend’s body parts while you flirt in this very Tower.”

“Tony…” Could he maybe tone the teasing down?

“Go on, go find him. Friday, where’s Murdock?”

“He is in his room, sir.”

“All right, there you go, Cap. Tell him I’m almost done with the new and improved Starkphone, all right?”

“Will do,” Steve said, and he left Tony and the workshop to ride the elevator up to Matt’s room. He noticed the new Braille labels next to the buttons, and the softer beep to announce the arrival on the right floor.

Matt was sitting at a desk, a laptop and another machine Steve had never seen in front of him. He removed an earbud when Steve arrived and turned to him. He was wearing glasses, this time. Red-tinted, of course.

“Hi,” he said. Steve opened his mouth but Matt didn’t let him speak. “Before anything else, I wanted to apologize for my outburst yesterday, it wasn’t… you’ve all done a lot for me, and I’m grateful, I really am. I shouldn't take out my frustrations on you.”

“No harm done. I’m often told I’m a grumpy old man myself.”

“Stark says that?”

“Everyone says that. Oh, speaking of Tony: he said to tell you the new phone is almost finished. Is he making you a new one?”

“I think he took it as a challenge when I told him his products and his Tower were hard to navigate.”

“I can believe that,” Steve said. “Are you working on something? Am I disturbing you?”

“No, of course not.” Matt pushed away his computer and the other machine. “Foggy brought me some work; he’s starting to get swamped at the firm. I can still do things from here, even if… well. Even if I’m stuck here for now.”

“Well, I’ve got news about that too.” Steve sat on the bed.

Matt perked up. “Really?”

“Yeah. I went to see Dr. Strange, he’s a – sorcerer, he says. A practitioner.”

“Of… magic?”

“Listen, I know it seems, well, strange. But he’s really good at what he does, and I thought if anyone can help, it’s going to be him.”

“All right. I trust your judgment.”

Steve could definitely picture Tony rolling his eyes at that. “Uh, so.” Matt raised his eyebrows above his glasses, waiting. “Right. Dr. Strange said he can probably manipulate a few things, disconnect your identities and erase records such as articles and videos that link them, but…”

“But?”

“It would mean everyone who knows you are Daredevil might forget it, including the people you’d still want to know. People who’ve known one or the other for a long time should still know the identity they’re familiar with, but may not remember that you’re both. And people who’ve learned the truth recently…” Steve sighed. “People who didn’t know either Daredevil or Matt Murdock before, would probably forget both.” Steve sighed. “He said those who’ve known for a long time _and_ have clearly merged the two identities in their minds might still remember, but…”

“You. You’d forget.”

“It’s likely I would, yes.”

“Foggy, Karen, Maggie…”

“Maybe. Probably not, but possible.”

“But they’d be safer, then.”

“You’d be all on your own, Matt. You can still choose to fight the charges brought against you, win, and go on being both Matt Murdock and Daredevil.”

“I can’t. I’m not sure I can get those charges dropped, and even if I did too many people are at risk. I should… I should do it.”

Steve wasn’t surprised, not really. It didn’t mean he liked it. “I’ll let him know, then.”

“Should I meet him?”

“Nah, he just said he needs a couple days to prepare. He meditates, or something mystical like that.”

“All right then. Thank you, Steve. Guess I should start packing, be back in Hell’s Kitchen when he does his… thing.” A corner of his lips went up, and Steve was fascinated. “Would be awkward to be here while no one remembers who I am and what I’m doing in Stark Tower.”

“Right.”

“Right.” There was an awkward silence for a moment, Steve trying to find something else to say that he wouldn't mind getting lost forever after Strange’s spell.

“Steve?”

“Yeah.”

“When you were gone on that mission,” Matt started. He seemed to find the words hard to get out. “You, uh. You left a sketchbook in the infirmary.” He pointed to the bedside table, where the sketchbook was.

“Oh.”

“You’ve been drawing a lot. Foggy said, uh.” His fingers curled as if they were trying to hold something, and he looked surprised for a second when he realized they were empty. “If I touch the page, I can feel an indentation, some shapes, but it’s hard for me to really understand what they are. Foggy said that there were hands, and mouths, and arms, that you drew body parts. I said you probably were practicing; that’s a thing artists do, right?”

“Yes,” Steve croaked out.

“But then Maggie said they were not just any body parts. She said they were all drawn from me.”

“Yes.” He sounded like a dying frog.

“I mean, I was right there. It’s easier to draw from life, right?”

Steve didn’t think he could even say one syllable by now. His throat felt like it had when he’d had asthma attacks a century ago, like it had closed up and he was about to die choking on nothing. “Huh,” he managed.

“Can I ask you something?”

Destroy all the sketchbooks? Apologize for his creepy behavior? Anything. “Sure.”

“Can you… can you draw me? My entire face, I mean? I don’t know what I look like, not really. What people see, when they see me. What I’d see in a mirror. If I could just touch it, if I could… I know it sounds stupid, and self-centered, and you don’t have to – look, just forget it.” He pushed away from the desk and stood up, but Steve caught his wrist before he could get out of the room.

“I can do that,” he said.

Matt’s face broke into a smile Steve had never seen before, bright and happy and so far away from all the other smiles he’d seen before, those filled with threats and challenge. “Oh,” he breathed out. “Oh, uh, good. Thanks.”

Steve thought for a minute, then gently tugged on Matt’s wrist. “Want to come to my place?”

“Can’t see your etchings, soldier.” The smile grew a little cockier, more familiar. Steve’s heart did a thing and Matt tilted his head. _He heard that_ , Steve realized. He heard Steve’s heart jump.

“It’s just most of my tools are there.”

“Your… tools?” Matt was leaning into him a little, just enough that Steve could feel his body heat. He found it harder and harder to say things that made sense.

“Supplies!” Ugh. “My _art_ supplies, I meant.”

“Okay.” The smiled widened a little more.

“It’s just a few minutes’ ride.” Oh God. “Uh, on my bike! We can borrow a helmet from Tony’s rack, he won’t mind.”

“Let’s go down, then.”

Jesus. “Right. Yes.”

Steve didn't let go of Matt’s wrist in the elevator, not until Matt was seated behind him and he could feel his arms around his middle. “Don’t let go,” he said before revving the engine.

“I won’t.”

Steve had rarely been so distracted while weaving through the heavy afternoon traffic in Manhattan, and it was a very good thing his reflexes were what they were. Matt didn’t seem to mind the narrow escapes from a couple wipe-outs, but Steve was still relieved he hadn’t crashed them into a truck just because Matt’s fingers were splayed over his stomach.

“So, uh. This is where I live,” he said after turning off the engine. Matt only hummed. “Do you want…” How was one supposed to say these things? He’d never been any good at sweet-talking people he liked. But Matt seemed to understand and took his elbow, and they went up the stairs. “I know you’re still recovering; the elevator’s broken, but I can…”

“It’s fine.”

They were soon at his door and Steve unlocked it, ushering Matt inside and setting the helmets on the floor. “It’s not – I wasn’t expecting… um.” It was a bit messy, more Steve Rogers – well, Steve Grant – than Captain America. “You hungry?” No, wrong word. “Thirsty?” Oh God, _worse_ word.

“I’m good.”

“Good. Good, good. Er.” Ah, yes, drawing. They were here to draw. “So, the easel is here, and…”

And Steve got an idea.

“What are you doing?” Matt said when he found himself purposefully led to a corner of the apartment. He reached out and touched the thick paper in front of him. “I can’t draw, Steve. I never could, even before I was blind.”

“I’ll draw for you,” Steve said. “And you can follow the gestures. I’ll maybe ask Friday tomorrow if this can be turned into an engraving, but for now…”

Steve pushed his stool to the side and stood behind Matt in front of the easel, their arms lined together. Steve’s fingers covered Matt’s, both hands holding the pencil.

“First,” he said, “the general shape of your head.”

“You can’t see me that way,” Matt whispered.

“I don’t need to see your face, by now.”

“Oh.” He leaned back a little against Steve’s chest, and Steve found out he was just the perfect size to fit against him. Steve would describe what he was doing directly in his ear and feel Matt’s hair stand on end, feel his chest expand with every breath he took, deeper each time. Little by little, the Matt on paper took shape while the one in his arms seemed to melt a little into him.

“No glasses?”

“Oh, no. You have beautiful eyes, I’m not hiding them.” Steve took them off and dropped them on the stool.

“A lot of people find them disturbing.”

“I don’t.” Steve’s lips were so close to the shell of Matt’s ear, to his cheekbone, his temple. “I like them. I drew them a lot, too.”

“You won’t recognize where they’re from, after your friend… you know.”

Steve didn’t want to think about that. “Or maybe I will. Maybe I’ll see you one morning in front of me, buying your coffee, and I’ll recognize you. I’ll think, _I’ve drawn him before, I know these hands, I know this mouth_.”

“But I’ll know that you…”

No, Steve really didn’t want to think of what was going to happen. Not now. Tony would be proud of him, he thought just before letting his lips brush against Matt’s skin. Matt dropped the charcoal pencil with a sharp breath and Steve moved his arm around Matt, pulled him in even closer; and Matt tilted his head to the side. It was a clear invitation, and as clueless as he could be sometimes even Steve could see that. He gladly took it.

They never finished the portrait.

 

His phone’s insistent ringing dragged Steve out of his nap, and he stumbled out of bed to find his jacket, fumble his phone out and answer it. He didn’t even have to say anything before Tony steam-rolled all over him.

“So hey, I’m told you’ve kidnapped Murdock but you didn’t take his medication with him, can you bring him back? Or I can send you the pills, I guess. And his new phone, while I'm at it.”

“Uh.” Steve rubbed his face and looked at the open window near the easel. He hoped Matt had just stepped out on the fire escape for some fresh air, and not run away. “Right. Look, can I call you back in a moment?”

Tony whistled. “Go get some, Captiger.”

Steve shook his head and hung up before hunting for sweatpants and sliding his feet into sneakers. He didn’t take the time to tie the laces before going up to the roof. Matt was there, sitting on the ledge with his feet dangling in the void, head tilted in Steve’s direction.

“Hey,” Steve said. “Aren’t you cold up here?” Matt wasn’t wearing anything under his sweatshirt, and the temperatures dropped sharply at night.

“I’m fine. I missed this,” he added.

“This?”

“This. Home.”

Steve sat next to him. “Yeah. The Tower is great, but it’s not – it’s too sterile. Too much steel and glass.” He looked at Matt. “You shouldn’t stay outside too long, some people are still after you.”

“Stark’s right. I should get back to the Tower.”

“You heard that?”

Matt smiled. “My hearing’s spectacular,” he said.

“Right.”

“Foggy hates it sometimes, that I can sense so much.” He paused. “Sometimes I do, too.”

“Why?”

“I know I can’t get there in time, but I can still hear it. Three blocks down that way,” he pointed to the right, “a kid’s trying to rob a bodega. Two blocks there,” he pointed ahead of them, “a drug deal’s about to go wrong. They’ve started shouting, probably going to get the guns out soon. And I can’t do anything right now. I’d get my ass handed out to me; I _know_ it.” His fists curled and Steve covered one with his own hand. “I hate it.”

“I can get there. Stop whatever’s happening.”

“It’s not your fight.”

“But it’s yours?”

“I just – uh.”

“What?”

Matt cocked his head to one side, then another. “Jessica’s at the bodega,” he said. “Frank’s about to shoot up the drug deal.”

“Frank? Frank Castle? And Jessica… Jones?” Steve smiled. “Your team’s covering for you.”

“I don’t have _a team_.”

“Seems to me like you do.” Steve hoped they’d known each other for long enough they’d all still be a team even after Strange did his thing. _It’s not an exact science_ , he’d said. _Some may remember, or they may not._ Steve hoped they would.

Matt huffed, but still smiled a little. “They’re good people.”

“Castle’s… intense.”

“You clearly haven’t met Jessica.”

“Maybe one day,” Steve said.

“Yeah, maybe.”

They didn’t say anything else after that, just letting the noises and smells from Hell’s Kitchen waft up to them and trying to stay in the present. The future would be here soon enough.

 

Two days later, Friday was on standby: all remaining traces of Matt’s stay at the Tower were ready to be erased the minute Strange gave his go-ahead. Tony had given Steve many concerned looks, but he’d ignored them. They'd all forget about ever meeting Matt, and it was better that way. Or rather Matt thought it was better that way, and it was his choice to make. They’d spent most of those two days together, and Steve still wasn’t sure what was worse: forgetting everything like he would, or keeping the memories intact like Matt would. They were good memories and he wanted to keep them, but on the other hand Steve wasn’t sure he could live with yet more regrets in his life.

They still had a couple hours in Matt’s apartment before he had to leave, before Strange started his spell and Friday started deleting the Tower’s records.

“You can still change your mind,” he said as he followed him inside.

“I know, but I won’t. I _can’t_ , Steve.”

Well. Steve hadn’t expected him to change his mind. “I’ll miss you.”

Matt smiled. “Nah, you won’t even remember me. You’ll go right back to destroying Doombots and fighting off alien invasions. You’ll be fine.”

“I don’t want to be.” Steve slipped his hand under Matt’s shirt and felt for the cut that had almost killed him. It was still slightly warmer than the skin around it. “You’ll be careful, right?”

“Sure. You know me by now.”

 _Precisely_ , Steve didn’t say. Tony was right: they were too much alike sometimes, but Matt didn’t have a serum coursing through his veins like Steve did. He _couldn't_ jump out of a plane without a parachute, but he’d sure want to. “I, uh. I brought you something,” he said instead.

“Something _else_? On top of the drawing and all the sketchbooks you didn’t want to keep?”

“Right. Uh, yes.” He got the box out of his backpack. “Here,” he said. “Open it.”

Matt took the box and turned it into his hands. “Steve, you shouldn't have. Hey, it’s not a bomb, is it?” He smiled. “Something’s ticking inside.”

“Just open it.”

Matt sat on his couch and ran his fingers around it until he found the tape keeping the box closed and tore it off. “It sounds expensive,” he said. “Oh, it’s…” He lifted the watch from the box and touched its face. “It’s a watch.”

“Yeah.” Tony had helped him get it delivered much faster than it usually would have, so he could give it to Matt himself. “It’s got a matte silver face, and a dark red strap. It looks real nice.”

“It feels real nice too. I… thank you, Steve. Thank you.” Matt cleared his throat and held the watch out. “Put it on me?”

Steve didn’t want to make any promise he couldn’t keep. He couldn’t tell Matt he’d remember one day; he couldn't tell him they had a future. But there still was the present to make the most of, their here and now; and maybe a little something to remember Steve by, when they didn’t have their hands all over each other anymore. There would still be something from Steve hugging Matt’s wrist, at least. Something he’d put on and use everyday. So there was that, right? There was that, at least.

 

Steve had moved to Hell’s Kitchen four months ago, and he never regretted it. In between Captain America missions he’d made friends with his neighbors, taken up drawing and painting again, started experimenting with clay, and tried dishes from more countries than he’d ever visited. Spring was in the air, and he felt… good. There was a little something at the back of his head telling him he was missing something, but he figured that he always would. He’d left a lot of people in the past, after all.

His neighbors all believed him to be a vet who did part-time work in security and hoped to be a full-time artist one day. It wasn’t that far from the truth; really, it even _was_ the truth. Steve preferred it that way. So he spent his days between training, preparing or debriefing missions, painting, doing some odd jobs for a neighbor or another, catching up on the decades he’d missed, doing some charity work as Cap… he was pretty busy, all in all. A bit lonely at times, even if he had more friends now than he’d ever had growing up. He just wished he wasn’t making coffee just for himself in the mornings; he just wished for someone who asked how he wanted his eggs today. Someone who’d fall asleep right against him, skin to skin. It wasn’t too much to ask, was it? But no one really caught his eye, and he had an identity to keep secret anyway. It would be too complicated, maybe even dangerous.

It just wasn’t the right time, that was all. He still had so many things to discover in this century, in this neighborhood.

The Kitchen didn’t have a good reputation, for instance, but it was way safer than most people assumed, whatever Tony said. Several vigilantes roamed the streets and he’d met a few, but the only truly local one evaded him. Daredevil, they called him. Contrary to Jessica Jones, who would actually answer you if she wasn’t drunk, hungover, in a hurry, or just in a bad mood, his real identity was a mystery; and he seemed intent on keeping it that way. Steve had tried to go near him a couple times to chat a bit, but every time the guy seemed to sense him and made himself scarce. Given the kind of stunts he routinely performed in the dark of night, the guy must have at least Clint-level eyesight.

Steve hadn’t mentioned it to Clint, of course, because Clint would immediately declare the Parkour Olympics open. Two people challenging each other to crazier and crazier rooftop acrobatics right above his head wasn’t Steve’s idea of a relaxing evening. The job gave him more than enough to worry about regarding his teammates, thank you very much.

He’d also started a new project: a portrait that you could both see and touch. Mixing colors was one thing, but what about mixing textures too? And if he was mixing things, why not mix faces and come up with one made up from all the people he saw every day in the Kitchen? He dug up the sketchbooks he’d completed since he’d moved in, and looked at all the quick studies in there: a face or just an eye, a roughly-drawn silhouette or a detailed hand… He knew he wasn’t doing groundbreaking art but he was doing something that was new _for him_ , and it was exhilarating.

Day after day, his project was taking form.

When he was stuck and didn’t know what direction to take, he’d put on a heavy jacket and walk around the neighborhood. Usually, it helped clear his thoughts, but one evening things took a different turn. The sound of fighting made him step into a narrow alley, and he got a sense of déjà-vu as he peered into the gloom. It was Daredevil; he recognized the black headscarf and the graying, fraying ropes around the hands. He was up against three guys with knives, and Steve ran into the mêlée to help. Daredevil stared at him and Steve stared back, but this moment of inattention got the masked man a slash on the arm. It seemed to enrage him more than anything else, and before Steve could do more than throw a few punches all three guys were flat on the ground. Daredevil ignored Steve after that; he zip-tied their wrists and called in an anonymous tip to the police on a burner phone. He’d have shimmied up the nearest fire escape if Steve hadn’t caught his uninjured arm.

“Hey,” he said.

Daredevil froze. “Yeah, thank you for your help. I should go.”

“You’re injured. I can clean it up for you, maybe give you a couple stitches, right? Least I can do. My fault you got hurt.”

“I’m fine.”

“Please.” Steve relaxed his hand on the man’s biceps, but didn’t let go entirely. “It would make me feel better to make sure you’re okay.”

After a moment, Daredevil sighed and nodded, sounding way more defeated than he should. “All right,” he said.

He followed Steve to his apartment and sat on the kitchen stool Steve directed him to, his shoulders tense. He didn’t protest when Steve cut his sleeve off, he didn’t even flinch when his wound was cleaned and stitched.

“It’s not deep or anything. It should be fine with proper care.”

“Yeah, I’m used to it.”

“I’m not sure that’s reassuring, you know.” Steve cut the last suture thread and checked that everything looked good. “I’m Steve, by the way.”

“Hi, Steve.”

There was something about the way Daredevil said his name, but Steve couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Wistful, maybe? But why would it be? Steve looked back up at his face, what he could see of it, and that’s when it hit him. That mouth. He’d seen it before, in fact he knew it very well. The same one was facing at him from the easel by the window.

“Look, uh. This may sound stupid, but… do we know each other?”

“No.” He’d answered way too quickly to be convincing.

“I think – what I can see of your face, it’s familiar.”

“We don’t know each other.”

“Maybe, but… Look behind you, at the easel. Does that look like you, without your mask on?”

“Steve,” Daredevil said, and he was pleading. “Don’t.”

Something was wrong. Something was really, very wrong. Or maybe right. Really, very right. Steve’s throat felt like it was closing up, but he ignored it. “I’m going to take your mask off,” he said.

“Steve…” But he didn’t stop him.

He put his palm flat against Daredevil’s cheek, slid a finger under the fabric, then two. Still no reaction. Steve finally removed it, and it was like an icepick in his brain. It was him; it had always been him. It was the same face he’d been working on for days. What he’d been painting wasn’t a composite made up of all the people he’d seen in Hell’s Kitchen, it was its very own Devil.

A devil he knew as someone else, too. A guy he often saw queuing at his favorite coffee shop, where he always ordered three coffees and sometimes a few bagels. And… and a guy he’d seen more than half-way dead in a dusty construction site, a guy he’d seen naked and sprawled out on Steve’s own bed, a guy whose lips he’d drawn and kissed. And drawn again.

“Oh God,” Steve whispered. Oh God, he remembered it all now. Daredevil’s eyes, Matt’s eyes, were suspiciously shiny. “There,” Steve said, and he led him to the painting. “Touch it.”

Matt’s fingers lifted almost reluctantly, as if he was afraid that it wouldn’t be true, and he followed the raised contours first. “First, the general shape of the head,” he whispered. He repeated the gestures Steve had started his first portrait with, his hand shaking slightly.

Steve stepped closer behind him, then closer again until his lips were almost touching Matt’s ear. “You remember, too.”

“I never forgot.”

“I think… I thought I had, but deep down you were still there.” That painting was Matt. It had always been Matt. Not a random mix-up of the faces he saw everyday in the Kitchen, no: _him_.

Matt’s hand fell back from the painting. “You were everywhere, everywhere I turned I could hear you, feel you… I couldn’t stay far away, and I couldn’t let you come too close. I’d have lost it, I would.” He shook his head. “Sometimes, I wanted to. I wanted to lose it.”

“You didn’t.”

“Foggy remembered,” he said. “Karen, Jessica, my – Maggie. It wasn’t that bad. I told myself it wasn’t that bad. I chose it. I chose it for them, and it’s a small price to pay, right? I’d expected it. I’d been warned. You’d left me your art that I can’t see and a watch and all the memories, and I still wanted to go to Strange and make him undo it all.”

“It’s over now.” Steve moved around Matt and ran his fingers on a bruised cheekbone, then up through disheveled hair. His thumb went back to Matt’s lips, followed their curve. “Can I kiss you?”

Matt smiled.

Steve thought he could spend a lifetime drawing the real thing and never quite get it right.

He’d sure keep trying, though.

**Author's Note:**

> The watch Steve buys is [here](https://www.eone-time.com/pages/the-timepiece). NICE!
> 
> As for the rating, there is no explicit sex, but the things that might require warnings are:  
> \- a couple 'bad' words (the characters who use them swear in their TV shows where I met them first),  
> \- the prompt-related whumpage,  
> \- a little, though I don't think a lot, of violence. Steve's job is to punch nazis after all ;-) and Matt is a canonically violent guy who's constantly bleeding, hurt, etc be it in his show or the comics...  
> \- also a few medical-related elements to un-whump Matt.  
> \- I've seen ableism defined in different, sometimes contradicting ways regarding Daredevil; therefore I'm not tagging for it. I chose to have Matt's blindness be part of the plot in, I hope, a respectful fashion.


End file.
